


A trail of breadcrumbs

by AsraElenavra



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: 2nd POV, Art, F/M, Fluffflufffluff, Ink!Sans - Freeform, Ink!Tale, Loneliness, Mentions of Error!Sans, OC, Rainbows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6136190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsraElenavra/pseuds/AsraElenavra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you do, if your art could come alive? What would you do, if you'd fall in love with it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A trail of breadcrumbs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The best conmom you could wish for!](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+best+conmom+you+could+wish+for%21), [Melanie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie/gifts).



> Read a lot of Ink!tale lately and got the idea for this drabble while chatting with a friend...  
> So... this happened!

Sans had forgotten for how long he had been standing there now, watching the beautiful patterns that unfolded in front of him in complete awe. Never had he seen something like that before. His eyes, one teal and the other one a tiny, golden star, trying to memorise every last detail about this as best as he could, his jaw slightly opened and the brush, he himself used so much, hanging from his side, the grip of his hand a bit more loose than usually.  
He was used to creating things, live, helping whole alternate universes coming to life just to have them destroyed by Error! shortly after. He was used to seeing the lives of everyone else, all of the other Him’s, spread out before him, like an artwork but not interfering with them yet. And he was used, defending all of them as best as he could, helping them and the creative flow, that would create them.

What he wasn’t used to, where this, and it confused him greatly, yet in the best way. His eyes still glues on the patterns that would follow through the void he started walking, following the art that was laid out like it was meant to be found by him, his very own version of the trail of breadcrumbs. For all he know, this could be some kind of trap but he couldn’t help himself. Whoever made this… needed to be found. So he followed the red thread that would lead him.

At first, the drawing were nothing more, just drawing. Then they became more. It started out with the stars, a picture of the universe in front of him, drawn with such care and detail that he had to stop and wonder for a second if it really was ink and not just a window into actual space. Shortly after, space melted into water, the moon and the tiny dots becoming reflections first, then turning into little, tiny air bubbles, as gentle waves were crashing onto themselves in the middle of the ocean. Strands of seaweed was gently swaying with the current movements, slowly turning into tree trunks and leaves, as he continued walking, still unable to take his eyes of it. A quiet forest was splayed out in front of him, lightning bugs illuminating the dark night, where the stars above weren’t enough. A small hill, covered in soft, greed grass and tiny violets could be seen in the distance. It seemed so lifelike, so real, that it was… well, surreal. He needed to find whoever did this. And he needed to find them quickly.  
As he walked deeper into the forest of ink, a thick fog started to emerge, the beautiful, light-hearted drawing suddenly feeling sinister and almost… scared? A weird feeling emerged inside of his chest, was it worry? He couldn’t tell but his pacing increased subconsciously, the further he got into the fog, the faster he would run along the wall of art, his artist brush now thrown over his shoulder again.

And suddenly, the fog lifted, and something different happened.

The artstyle seemed different now, almost crude, like a child would draw. Nothing like the lifelike, beautiful sceneries before. And yet, he couldn’t look away, his eyes were glued to the story, that would present itself to him now.

It started out with… him. Yeah, him, as incredible as it sounded, that was definitely this version of Sans, drawing, almost doodling. Just random things. But oh, he could remember this day. This was after one of his worse nightmares, when he was feeling especially lonely inside the void with everyone gone. So he started drawing. He could still remember most of it. His family, things he would have seen in other timelines, the girl, the first sunset, he saw in real life. Wait? The girl? Yes, her. He wished for a companion, so he tried drawing one. He didn’t know what he was doing, but she ended up beautiful. However, she wasn’t alive. He couldn’t do it, no matter how hard he tried, the girl from his pictures would never be real, so he gave up on his dream of not being alone anymore. He tried to forget about her, but it was hard, borderline impossible. She would still haunt his dreams from time to time, if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear her laugh, almost like a glass bell and the kind eyes that would almost sparkle, when she smiled. She was perfect, but not real. Then why did whoever did this, draw hi, while he was creating her? The only way he could find out, was following the red thread of fate.

The next sceneries just showed him, leaving behind his pictures, and he could feel a slight pain inside his chest, right where his soul were. He wasn’t abandoning them, was he? For a long time nothing happened. Jut these dribbles, over and over. The girl, over and over. And then it changed again. The girl started to change. It was just small changes at first, starting with her eyes to dart around, then her arm to move, until she seemed to… grip reality itself, pushing herself out of it. Sans mouth fell agape, when she literally pulled herself into reality, the art style becoming more and more like something realistic, until she fell onto the floor.

She looked so confused and he couldn’t stop staring at her. What was this supposed to mean?  
The pictures showed her, sitting on the floor, inspecting her body, a sense of wonder on her expression, before it turned into laughter and pure joy. She would get up, still wobbly on her legs, taking a few babysteps, before she’d getting used to it and the insecure toddles would become running and dancing and twirling around. The skeleton couldn’t help himself but smile at the sight. She was just like he imagined it, he wanted to see more, practically running along the pictures with her, a happy laugh erupting from him and greatly confused, what was happening right now.

And then she started to draw. Well, not really draw. Her fingers would just touch thin air, and ink would bleed into it and create all of these beautiful patterns he had seen before, the landscapes. He could watch you create the stars

The ocean

The forest and the hill with the violets on it

The fog

And how it lifted.

He could watch you draw your own story, as short as it may have been.

And only then, he managed to tear his eyes away from the ink, watching back the long trail of pictures he followed, before turning his head. And there you were, not far away, in the distance, still drawing, your eyes too affixed to the things you were creating, to notice him. His whole soul jolted at the sight. You were so perfect. This couldn’t be true, but you were so perfect. Just about your height, and silvery blonde hair, that was tied back into a pony tail, a few strand still framing your face. Your hairband had a few blue stars hanging from it, he could remember drawing them so vividly. Your body was cladded in a bodice made out of measuring tapes, a belt, very much alike to his own, just with a with needle and spools of  multi-coloured threads, wrapped around your torso. Your legs were covered in a long and flowy, black skirt, two glueguns as well as a heating gut strapped to the sides of the waistband. His steps must have alerted you, because your fingers stopped drawing in mid-air, the unfinished painting already starting to fade, as she looked at you and you looked at her, before her face lightened up, a toothy smile flashing towards him that made your rainbow-coloured freckles dance and the purple eyes sparkle. She couldn’t be real, couldn’t be true, but here she was, all he ever wanted and ever dreamed of, smiling at him, like she waited her entire life for him. Slowly she reached out for Sans, offering him her hand.  
“I…I don’t understand…?” he whispered and her smile grew a bit.  
“You created me. Don’t you remember?”  
“How could I forget you?” Carefully, he took her hand and she stepped closer. With his free hand, he gently touched her cheek, making her look up to him. “Do you have a name?” You just shook your head, still smiling and looking up at him, your hand still entangled with his. Sans let out a small sigh, placing a kiss on the crown of her head. “I won’t let you go anymore, Irina.”


End file.
